De rikeste stunder i menneskelivet er ikke ånden men hjertet forunt... Frykt ikke for i morgen, for i nattens mørke ligger solen begravet...

To a Prize Bird

You suit me well; for you can make me laugh,
Nor are you blinded by the chaff
That every wind sends spinning from the rick.

You know to think, and what you think you speak
With much of Samson's pride and bleak
Finality; and none dare bid you stop.

Pride sits you well, so strut, colossal bird.
No barnyard makes you look absurd;
Your brazen claws are staunch against defeat.